


Dopey

by illycrium



Series: Dopey [2]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine, Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Arson, Attempted Murder, Brain Damage, Happy throws a tantrum, M/M, Physical Abuse, Vomit, anal rape, for archival purposes, nipple abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 01:50:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19097305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illycrium/pseuds/illycrium
Summary: Dopey meets the gang





	1. Snufkin the Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dopey before he is Dopey

He had been found as a kit. Rescued, as Mudlin would describe it. Dopey, a fragile little kitten in the paws of a Joxter, mewling as the older Mumrik pulled his tiny thighs apart and pushed his face down into the creek. A proper savior, Mudlin was, taking his pistol and burying a bullet right into the Joxter’s skull.

He had simply been looking for something he could get away with shooting. The kitten was an added bonus. 

And so the boy, young then, hauled the kitten home, kicked at his mother’s skirts until she allowed him a new pet, and named him Tonnil. 

Once he could speak, he could say his own name. He could say “yes, please,” and “thank you” and meow like a proper cat—because he was a proper cat, the Mudlin says, and cats meow. 

Cats meow, the Mudlin says. Cats wiggle their tails and cats don’t ever bite or scratch. If cats are bad—and bad could be a great many things, like meowing too much, too loudly, falling, knocking things over, crying, frowning, laughing, speaking out of turn, bad posture even if he couldn’t sit quite right because his bum hurt and the Mudlin didn’t care to be gentle—cats get hurt however the Mudlin pleased.

Often it’s just a hand. Tonnil meows too loudly at an inopportune time, and Mudlin thinks he has been humiliated by his pet in front of his friends, so he hits him. 

Sometimes, it’s his belt. Tonnil’s nails dig into the Mudlin’s thigh one time—there’s too much, too hot, burning and dry and his guts feel all twisted up so he can’t focus on learning his alphabet—and the Mudlin pushes him off, takes off his belt and hits him with it. Sometimes the Mudlin is sweating through his tunic afterwards, and then Tonnil can’t move very well for a few days, and he feels like a great big bruise.

Mudlin’s mother uses the spoon. Tonnil sticks a pinky into the strawberry pie to taste it, and she catches his wrist and bends him over her knee in a swift, smooth motion. The Mudlin giggles behinds his hands as sharp pops fill the kitchen, with a wooden spoon hammering against Tonnil’s bare bottom. It hurts, but at least it’s only on his butt. 

The bat is the scariest of all. Tonnil doesn’t like the bat, and he doesn’t like when the Mudlin has the bat. Sometimes, he doesn’t like the Mudlin.

He’s a bad cat, he thinks. He hasn’t done anything, but the Mudlin returns from his studies one day, red in the face and clenching his fists. Tonnil mews at him, rubs against his leg—

He’s kicked, right into the wall. Like a good cat, he stays very still and keeps his gaze on the ground. If he’s still, maybe the Mudlin will calm down, realize he’s actually a good cat. He hasn’t knocked anything over all day, and he hasn’t frowned once. 

Something hits him anyways, and white hot heat explodes through his leg. His ears are ringing and when his vision clears, his leg is twisted up. He thinks of the pretzels the Mudlin enjoys at the fair. Sometimes he pulls a piece off and bends down and offers some to Tonnil. It’s warm and buttery and covered in fat flakes of salt. 

He’s not at the fair right now, and the Mudlin is holding his baseball bat. It’s wooden, and it’s very heavy, and he usually hits balls with it, not Tonnils.

He’s going to hit him again, Tonnil realizes. “Nuh—“ tonk—crunch

There is somebody yelling. Ugly and wordless. He wants them to be quiet. He realizes he’s the one making a ruckus, but his mouth is not his own and it’s babbling and saying “stop stop no no no it hurts please stop please please stop” 

It’s unpleasant, maybe the least fun he’s ever had. When he thinks about it, he gets scared and croaky and whimpers and whimpers and cries and paws at his head because the Mudlin is going to hit his head again and his head’s going to be all foggy again and hurt and hurt and he’s been a good cat so why—

He wakes up later. He’s in bed, wrapped head to toe in white bandages. His head is very foggy, and he’s forgotten his name. He’s forgotten how his mouth works, and his tongue flops uselessly as he tries to speak.

After this, he wakes sometimes to the clap of thunder even when there is not a cloud in the sky. He forgets where he is when he ought to know where he is. Sometimes he holds a spoon and does not recall how to use it. He does not know how to eat, but at least the Mudlin is there to force his mouth open and stick cooked fish between his cheeks. 

“Swallow,” he says very roughly, and shakes him by the shoulders. He wants to obey, so he does, but the Mudlin won’t stop shaking him. 

The Mudlin isn’t in the room. He’s laying in bed, still as stone. But someone is shaking him, he is sure of it. 

He vomits and makes a mess of himself, and someone is still shaking him when a nurse comes along to clean him. It stops a few hours later. He is grateful for it.

The Mudlin uses the bat a few times. He doesn’t remember how many, but he knows that he knows less the more often it happens. He tries very hard to be a good cat.


	2. Dopey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dopey leaves home, makes some friends, and cooks dinner.

The house is very hot, and he cannot breathe. Every inhale brings something sharp and acrid, and his chest feels puffy and tingly like when the Mudlin blows smoke into his face while he’s puffing on his cigar. 

It’s far too hot. The walls are red, and the wallpaper is crumpling up, dark and crusty at the edges. He doesn’t like this much. Perhaps it will be cooler outside.

He patters along, and sees a window is open. The Mudlin is hunched over at his desk, a burnt match between his fingertips. He must be asleep, so the cat does not step on him when he climbs out the window. He is very still, and his mouth is all blue. Sometimes, his own mouth is blue when Mudlin’s mother gives him berries. 

He falls into the grass outside. The house behind him is still very hot, but he knows the river is cold. The Mudlin is fast asleep—so deep in sleep, he wasn’t even breathing. He will not mind if he goes to take a dip in the river. 

The sky is very dark, and then it is blue. Burning, he thinks. He doesn’t know where he got this word from, and he doesn’t know what it means, so he keeps walking.

 

 

Happy’s hair is positively overflowing with flowers when he finds the Snufkin. His fingers pause and crush a little green stem, and then he rises and skitters after, trotting away from his arts and craft station to harass the stranger.

Most Snufkins don’t like him. They call him names, and tell him to go away, which is very rude. Happy doesn’t like them either, but at least he doesn’t have to deal with them for very long. Most Snufkins barely last through the day, and then he is left to soak up the rest of Bendy’s attention and pet his horns the way the demon likes. No other Snufkins know how to pet Bendy—or they’re too busy dying to bother to learn. Just as well.

This one stops and looks at him, and doesn’t. His eyes are unfocused, locking for a moment on a flower in Happy’s hair, bobbling to his chin and then over his shoulder. He makes a funny noise, like a baby burbling. Snufkins don’t make those noises, but he looks exactly like a Snufkin.

The Snufkin, meanwhile, is surprised. There’s another him, but not him, and his hair is colorful. They are both not wearing pants, but Happy has boots on to protect his feet. 

“Hello,” Happy says to the Snufkin that’s looking-but-not-looking at him. Happy is smiling, wide and pinched at the edges. He remembers facing the mirror with the same kind of pain on his face as the Mudlin hurts him. He doesn't connect the two, but it reminds him.

“I’m Happy.” Happy continues, and reaches out to lace his fingers with Snufkin’s. Surprisingly, Snufkin doesn’t pull away, or frown and call him names, or pull a silly little knife out.

Instead, Snufkin lifts their linked hands, and pulls Happy’s thumb into his mouth. Happy’s silent a second, puzzled as the Snufkin just.... suckles gently on his digit. He doesn’t bite, or chew, or lick. He sucks, and makes a very soft noise of contentment. 

“You’re very big for a Snufkin,” Happy says after a moment, and pulls lightly. Snufkin allows the thumb to leave his mouth, and plods after him, “and you have a tail! I don’t see very many Snufkins with tails.” 

“Cat,” Snufkin replies, then meows. Happy looks at him, but he doesn’t continue. 

“Papa will like you. You’re not difficult like other Snufkins. And you’re pretty, and soft.” Happy smooths his fingers along Snufkin’s arm, hairless and silky because the Mudlin likes him looking soft and young. Like when he was a kitten again, and cried when he was fucked. 

“Do you know any games?” he’s still talking, as if Snufkin would answer, “Bendy loves to play games.” 

Silence again. This Snufkin is very boring. Happy feels the Snufkin lift his hands and suck on his thumb again. 

“You’re weird.” He giggles. 

Snufkin can feel grass under his feet, and dirt and fuzzy little ferns. He follows Happy into a clearing, over to a large tree from which hang clanging knives and rusting harmonicas. 

“I like games,” Happy sits down, and Snufkin sits next to him and plops his cheek against Happy’s thin shoulder, “Hunting Snufkins is really fun, but you were really easy to catch. You didn’t even run!” 

This Snufkin really is boring. And heavy—he’s taller than Happy is, and his belly is soft with food and pampering. He falls asleep against Happy in the middle of his sentence—quite rudely—and Happy finds he can’t push him off. He’s stuck under the Snufkin’s sleeping form, and slapping at him onto makes the Snufkin wrap his arms around his emaciated torso and hug him closer like he’s some sort of gangly pillow made of bones and scar tissue.

 

When Lazy and Bendy finally emerge from among the underbrush, Happy wiggles in delight where he is pinned, and slaps at Snufkin’s shoulders excitedly. 

“Papa! Bendy!” He squeals and giggles, glowing with pride, “I caught a Snufkin! I was making flower clowns,” he points at his hair, more flower than not, “and it showed up!” 

He’s wiggling and wiggling, and finally, Snufkin rouses. He sits up, yawns, and paws at his face to rub away crusties quite adorably, like he’s not sure just where his eyes are. 

When they open, Lazy is very close. Snufkin blinks slowly back at him, staying pleasantly still as the Joxter reaches out to cup his cheeks. “Hullo.” The Joxter says.

“It’s a dumb Snufkin.” Happy adds helpfully with a firm bob of his head, and greedily gravitates towards Bendy. 

Lazy pauses suddenly when the Snufkin moves, and takes the Joxter’s thumb into his mouth. He purrs, tongue swiping along the bottom, tasting tobacco and dirt and grass and ink. 

This was an especially dumb Snufkin indeed. He was so content to suckle on his thumb like a babe to a bottle, entirely unaware of what horrors he planned to unleash upon the Mumrik. 

Now was as good a time as ever to test out that serenity. Lazy put his paws on Snufkin’s thighs and pushed them apart, lifting his coat.

He was wearing nothing underneath, and shaven clean, his fat cock nestled comfortably and naked between his legs. Ever so helpfully, he spread his legs further, allowing the Joxter to settle between them without fuss. 

“How delightful,” The Joxter breathed, fishing his dick out. Hard already. Snufkin was soft—more so than other Snufkins with all his body hair gone, and he was being so accommodating, leaning back and lifting his butt to allow access. “There we are, dear, there...” 

He spat on his dick, then pushed in. Snufkin opened around him nicely, lifting his legs to press his knees to Lazy’s sides, steadying himself to lift slightly, then push himself the rest of the way down on Lazy’s cock. All without a noise of complaint, or any noisy shouting. 

He grabbed Lazy’s hand, and Lazy watched in interest. Not a bite or a cuss. Snufkin suckled on his thumb again and made a soft, sated noise as his own prick jumped to attention.

“I do love when Snufkins are frightened,” Lazy drawled, snapping his hips against Snufkin and drawing peaceful sighs from the Mumrik, “but I’ve never had such a compliant Snufkin.”

“He’s really havin’ fun, ain’t he?” Bendy leaned around Lazy, pressing his cheek to the Joxter’s arm and watching the Snufkin’s contented expression with interest. 

As if to answer Bendy’s question, Snufkin quivered, spilling long ropes of semen on his belly. The Mumrik clenched, and Lazy gasps and follows shortly after. 

Cock softening inside the Snufkin’s warmth, Lazy sat to regard the Snufkin, eyes locked onto the Mumrik’s paws as he scoops the cum from his belly and licks himself clean. 

“Bendy, darling,” Lazy says ,yawning , “I think I’d like to keep this one for a bit.” 

Snufkin appears not to register a thing being said. He suckles firmly on the thumb still lodged inside his mouth, giving out a happy hum. 

“Come, dear.” The Joxter pulls his prick free and stands, the Snufkin following closely after as he climbs into his canoe. Uselessly, Snufkin bumps into the boat and taps his paws along the edges, confused as if he did not know where the Joxter has gone. 

Bendy sniggers and pushes up on Snufkin’s butt, ever so helpful as he practically dumps the Snufkin into the canoe with a cheery, “Up you go, dummy!”

 

Snufkin comfortably nestles himself beside the Joxter, who is more than happy to absorb the Snufkin’s body heat as they sink into the cotton. In record time, Snufkin falls dead asleep, and Lazy follows after.

 

Lazy awakes to his trousers pushed down to his thighs. The Snufkin is curled there, suckling at the Joxter’s penis with a stunning sereneness that Lazy would have never expected to see from a Snufkin with his mouth full of cock. 

His tongue drags along the underside, and he pushes closer until his nose is buried in curls and his mouth is stuffed full. He seems impossibly content, eyes droopy and soft as he works his mouth around Lazy’s prick in ways that have the Joxter shuddering and clutching at the cotton of his nest. 

Most Snufkins give terrible oral. They’re busy selfishly crying, coughing and choking around him, gagging rudely. Mymbles were quite good at it, as was Bendy—but Lazy found a particular amount of pleasure from the fact it was a Snufkin doing this. Soft and pretty and behaving as most Snufkins should.

He reaches his climax embarrassingly soon, but Snufkin doesn’t seem to mind. He swallows reflexively, and his tongue stills, but he doesn’t lift his head. The Mumrik seems entirely pleased with having his mouth full. Not that Lazy is about to complain.

“Good morning to you as well,” Lazy chuckles breathlessly. Snufkin hums back at him. 

Far too soon, Bendy bursts their peaceful bubble by launching himself up onto the edge of the canoe, and sticking a finger in Snufkin’s ear who only blinks slowly at the sensation. 

“Heya, Jox!” He wiggles his finger. Snufkin’s nose twitches. “Can I play with the Snufkin?”

“Gently,” Lazy concedes, “I want to keep this one for a while more.”

“Yeah,” Bendy snorts, eyeing the mouth still clamped around Lazy’s dick, “I can see why.”

It only takes a bit of tugging to force Snufkin to release Lazy’s dick and ease him out of the canoe.

“C’mon, let’s play patty-cake!” Bendy drags Snufkin over to where Happy sits, clutching a purple swollen paw. 

“Pappy,” Snufkin mimics, and Bendy laughs. 

“My name’s Bendy! That’s Happy,” Happy waved and giggled, “and I think you should get a name too, seein’ as you’re our new toy.”

“Benby.” Snufkin says. Happy rolls his eyes dramatically and corrects him, “Bendy. It’s Bendy, stupid.” 

Bendy snaps his fingers. “Dopey! You’ll be Dopey!”

Dopey registers this as his new name. He puts a paw to his chest. “Doe-pee.” 

“Dopey,” Bendy carefully enunciates. 

“Dopey.” Dopey says proudly. 

“Hey, he’s got it! It’s a miracle!” 

“Dopey.” Dopey says again. He likes this name. Dopey. Dohh. Doh pee doh. doh. 

“Yeah, now c’mon, hands up!” 

Dopey looks at him and mimics his posture. Bendy gently taps his paw. 

“Okay, now you hit mine.” 

Dopey misses horribly. He tries again, but he’s aiming too close to his face, and his eyes aren’t focusing. Bendy’s too amused by the sight to punish him for it.

“Boy, you sure are dumb, aren’tcha?” 

“Dumb cat.” Dopey replies, “dumb dumb cat.” He meows.

“Do Snufkins meow?” Bendy looks over at Happy and Dopey keeps trying to hit his hand. Happy shakes his head.

Dopey makes contact, and Bendy cheers. Happy claps, which excites Dopey, whose tail lashes. 

“Okay, again!” Bendy taps his other paw. Dopey reciprocates with both paws, excited that he’s getting it. He grabs, and yanks Bendy’s hand into his mouth and sucks on it firmly. 

“Whoa, hey!” Bendy slaps at his face lightly, “Whaddya doin? That ain’t part of the game!” 

Dopey pulls him closer and sucks firmly, humming. Happy scoffs. 

“Dopey’s too dumb for games.” Happy complains. 

“Dopey’s too dumb for a lotta things, Happy.” Bendy pries his hand free and Dopey’s face falls. “Alright, Dopey. Do you know any games?” 

Dopey bobs his head. “Game.” 

“Yeah, dummy. Games. You know any?”

Dopey nods, and grabs Happy’s nipple and wrenches it. Happy yips and Bendy cackles. 

“Nice! Wow, weird game, but I like it!” Bendy takes Happy’s other nipple and twists until Happy’s yip turns into a pained wail, and then he keeps twisting.

Dopey releases the bud, Bendy copying him and watching as Dopey repeats, “game,” and then shoves Happy onto his back. 

“Jox, heya!” Bendy waves over at the canoe until Lazy lifts his head and blinks at him blearily, “Dopey knows games!” 

“Lovely name,” Lazy nods, arms folded on the edge of the canoe and chin settling on them. “I’ve never seen two Snufkins have sex before.” 

Bendy claps and rubs his hands together like he’s planning something wicked. “Ain’t it fun!” 

Lazy nods again, waking up further as he watches Dopey shove Happy’s legs apart. 

“Nuh—Bendy—“ Happy slaps Dopey’s hands, “No, I’m Bendy’s—only Bendy can—“ 

“Aw, Happy, Dopey’s just a Snufkin!” Bendy chides him, “Snufkins aren’t like people, ya know that!” 

The large dick swelling between Dopey’s thighs doesn’t look very comforting, and Happy covers his pussy with his hands and barks out a laugh. “I don’t—I don’t wanna have sex with another Snufkin.” He complains, voice reedy. 

“Relax, it’s just a Snufkin.” Bendy’s truly doing a terrible job at comforting his pet, who’s weakly scooting away from a Snufkin larger and stronger than him. 

“Game.” Dopey says harshly, and yanks Happy back underneath him. He knows the movements, even if he’s unfamiliar with a pussy. 

The Mudlin would do this, call it a game. “We were just playing,” he would explain when he was caught with his dick in a kitten Dopey, “it was just a game!”

He remembers the Mudlin pushing his knees up to his chest, so he does it. He remembers a massive dick rubbing between his thighs, so he re-enacts it. He remembers a heat blossoming, a deep, awful ache that made him shriek when he was just a kitten and far too little to accomodate a Mudlin. Dopey pushes inside. Happy whines and laughs nervously, and it’s nothing at all like the gasping sobs he remembered making as a kit. 

Maybe he’s doing it wrong. He’s a bad cat, after all. Maybe this wet hole is the wrong one. He pulls out, readjusts to shove against a familiar pucker. 

Happy protests burst into a sharp cry when he begins fucking into him. Now he’s doing it right, because Happy’s screaming. He still doesn’t think he likes playing Mudlin games. Happy is very loud, and his dick is being rubbed dry. Why then, did the Mudlin enjoy it so much? 

Dopey goes to pull out, palms on the backs of Happy’s thighs, but something heavy and inky rests against his back, dripping down his sides and pushing him down deeper into Happy’s ass. His dick is wet now, and Happy’s crying. 

“Benby?” Dopey asks, and something large pushes between his thighs. It nudges against his entrance, and he’s a good boy so he spreads his legs to allow it to surge inside. 

“Ah!” 

It’s big—very big, and warmth runs through his whole body. Dopey gasps, squeezing bruises into Happy’s thighs, the ink prick in his guts sending a lovely tingling straight to his cock. The thrust Bendy makes causes him to fuck into Happy again, who barks out a sob and a laugh. 

It’s heavenly on both sides, and Dopey trembles with it, moaning lustily over the sound of Happy crying and Bendy growling and Lazy fucking his fist. Bendy fucks into him and he fucks into Happy, who’s being very loud. Dopey wishes he wasn’t being so loud, but he can’t pull out now.

Happy’s hiccuping and squirming, but he’s pinned firmly underneath both a larger Snufkin and his own master. There’s heat up in his belly, but it’s not the nice kind. It’s twisty and achey and burning because there shouldn’t be anything in there, moving in and out like that. 

Dopey frames Happy’s body with his arms, caging him in as his hips snap with fleshy thumps, driving his dick deeper and making Happy want to vomit. His belly’s being churned up, and he’s not having any fun with this game. He bursts into shrill laughter. 

Dopey’s bigger and stronger, strong underneath the softness in his belly, and unable to control his strength through the fog in his brain. He doesn’t know it, but he could snap the emaciated little Snufkin like a toothpick.

Happy certainly feels it. Every thrust makes him feel like he’s going to break, and clawing at his chest does not less than nothing to slow him down. His hips are going to fall apart, he’s sure. His legs are going to snap off and Dopey’s going to fuck him until he falls apart. 

He’s being very dramatic about it, and sobs wetly in relief when Dopey finally stills, quivering and releasing a soft gasp. Seed spills against his insides, burning, and Happy makes a noise like a dying animal and kicks his legs uselessly. 

Dopey lifts slightly. It’s enough for Happy to wiggle free, and he scrambles away, hands to his belly, and darts off with a pained moan to go use the bathroom.

Lazy tumbles from the canoe then, wandering closer to watch Bendy’s ink schlup in and out of Dopey up close. He’s fucking his paw, grunting softly, and Dopey’s mouth feels very empty so he opens it in silent offering. Lazy doesn’t hesitate to push his dick inside and cum onto his soft tongue and let the Snufkin lick him clean. 

On top of him, Bendy’s small again, sitting on Dopey’s back and happily kicking his feet. “Boy, that was fun! Sorry ‘bout Happy—he’s a real whiner sometimes.”

Dopey flicks his tongue along the underside of Lazy’s glans and he gasps, sensitive from cumming, and pulls out. Dopey complains softly with a huff. 

 

After a good while in the bushes, Happy returns, walking stiffly with his eyes red and puffy. He sits by the firepit, gazing mopily into the flames as Dopey watches Lazy slice vegetables. He feels proper ignored when Lazy barely glances at him, instead turning to smile at the new Snufkin and playfully ask if he’d like to help cook. 

Very helpfully, Dopey picks up a carrot and holds it. 

Chuckling, Lazy takes his paws, pulling them to the smooth stone and knife he has on his lap. He fits the knife into Dopey’s paw, running it down the width of a carrot. 

“Happy’s a terrible cook.” Lazy explains, and the insult bites into Happy’s ego and makes his face screw up in despair. “He can’t do anything right.” 

“I wanna help.” Happy complains, scooting over. Dopey looks at him, much in the way that a cow would gaze dumbly at a harmless stranger, then down at his paws and knife. Happy wrestles the knife from Dopey’s fingers. 

“You can’t cook, Happy.” Lazy gently reminds him, but does nothing. The Snufkin saws a carrot in half like he’s trying to butcher an animal, and Bendy snorts at the sight. 

“I can learn. I’m not stupid as Dopey.” Happy glares at Dopey, hoping he’s hurt the Mumrik’s feelings. Dopey is sucking on a handful of grass, looking entirely unbothered by the jab. “I’m a better Snufkin, and I’m not stupid and-and—“ 

“You’re jealous!” Bendy squeals, and bursts into tittering laughter. Happy’s cheeks go pink as Lazy adds, “Dear, you mustn’t get so worked up over a simple Snufkin.”

“Dopey’s a bad Snufkin.” Happy mumbles sourly, carving a big chunk of carrot off. The stew won’t be properly edible at this rate. Happy tosses a handful of terribly cut vegetable pieces into the pot. “He doesn’t do anything right, and he’s boring!” 

“I quite like him.” Lazy muses, patting Dopey’s head. “He doesn’t fuss, and his mouth is nice and warm.” 

“Happy, you fuss.” Bendy says just to hurt Happy’s feelings. “Maybe we don’t want a Snufkin that’s all whiny, you know!”

Happy takes it to heart, reeling at the insult. His eyes are round and his face is all covered in tears and snot and spittle. Bendy giggle-snorts into his gloves, trying to hide his smile. 

Happy throws himself at Dopey. His gangly body hits Dopey’s side, and he pushes and claws the Snufkin towards the firepit. There’s burning and charring and screaming—

Dopey hasn’t moved. He’s looking down at Happy, and he lifts his arm and Happy slips and falls. On the ground, he kicks at nothing and punches at Dopey’s side. He may as well be punching a rhino, for all the good it does. 

“Get in the fire!” Happy commands him, “Get in get in get in!” 

Bendy’s doubled over laughing, Lazy’s eyes are glittering with mirth, and Dopey’s serenely sticking a pebble into his mouth. 

“Dear,” Lazy says, struggling not to laugh so he can properly chastise Happy, “it’s very rude to try to kill a Snufkin I’m not done with.” 

“I hate him! I hate him!” Happy shrieks, throwing his weight against Dopey again in an attempt to tip him into the fire. 

“He’s dumb and stupid and I hate him!” 

Bendy, helpful as ever, happily jumps in on scolding Happy. “Happy, you don’t get to decide to kill him. You’re just a Snufkin!”

Dopey finds a pile of small, smooth rocks. He puts them in his mouth. 

Happy slides to the ground and screams viciously against Dopey’s thigh. Dopey offers him a pebble, and watches sadly as Happy takes it and flings it into the forest. 

“Now, that was very rude.” Lazy gasps, “he gave you a gift!” 

“I don’t want stupid Dopey gifts! I just want Bendy!” 

“I think you need a time-out.” Bendy says. Happy punches Dopey in the ribs when he offers him another pebble. 

“I don’t need time-out!” Happy retorts as he’s dragged off. 

“I apologize for that,” Lazy says to Dopey, who watches Happy be entirely engulfed in ink, “Happy becomes very jealous of whoever Bendy plays with.” 

“Benby.” Dopey says back, and cuts another carrot. 

“Yes, love.” 

“Papa.” Dopey looks at Lazy and puts the carrots in the pot. They’re thin and perfectly cut. 

Lazy smiles. “Yes, love.”

Dopey likes Papa, and he likes Bendy. They’re very nice to him. He cuts an onion and chops it into little pieces, swift off of muscle memory, and tips it into the pot. 

“Can you cook, love?” Lazy’s watching his paws go, automatic as they dice up a chunk of dear. 

Dopey used to cook when he was Tonnil. The Mudlin liked food, and arthritis took mother’s hands so she could not prepare his meals anymore. She would sit in a stool and bark orders at him, kicking him for every slip of the knife or wrong ingredient added. If it was too sweet or too salty, the Mudlin would refuse the meal, and it would begin again and again and again, until his paws were raw and he could smell nothing but the stew he had been remaking for hours on end. 

He would fall asleep sometimes, on his feet and fingers buried in a ball of dough. Mother would dig her heel into his spine, and he would startle back to work, pinching flour into dough and kneading diligently as if he weren’t as exhausted as he looked.

Eventually he learned how to cook well, and mother did not have to sit and kick him. The Mudlin stopped refusing the meals, and Tonnil could make a creme brulee once and not have to make it again. 

He doesn’t have much to work with. The Mudlin’s kitchen had been larger, and indoors, and the shelves had been packed with spices. But there is salt and wild-grown onions, and he crushes peppercorn with the flat of the knife against the stone, and there is some lard. In a bag, there are jars of stolen spices, marked in a curling cursive writing that Lazy had taken for their pleasant smell, but wasn’t entirely sure how to incorporate into meals.

Dopey makes an old recipe with what he has. The Mudlin liked it as a boy. A hearty soup with chunks of mutton and toast on the side. He takes bread and uses the lard to toast it, and Lazy watches with sleepy interest while he cooks the meat, then prepares the broth.

The meal is ready by the time Happy and Bendy have returned, both covered in ink. Happy is quiet, but he meets Dopey’s gaze once. He tries to communicate through their matched gazes, but Dopey just opens his mouth and lets the pebbles he had been storing tumble to the ground. 

“Gross.” Bendy says, and serves Happy a little bit of the soup before deciding to eat it himself after Happy has a few bites. 

Lazy curls against Dopey, who’s nice and warm, and sips at his soup. “It’s quite nice.” He tells Dopey, who just puts some grass in his mouth again. 

The rest of the evening is peaceful. Bendy plows Happy under the stars. Dopey sucks Lazy’s prick to the sound of Happy’s pained howling, and all is peaceful and right in the valley.


End file.
